


Past the Point of Rescue

by Gwynda



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Character Death Fix, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynda/pseuds/Gwynda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wasn’t surprised people had been convinced by her demise – sometimes even she believed it to be the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past the Point of Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> OK - so not sure how this happened since I don't really like Criminal Minds. But I saw 200 and it messed with my mind slightly, which led to my thinking about who was rescued and who wasn't. Somehow this story appeared.  
> I might be about to stretch the characterisation too far so my apologies about that. Also you might have to pretend some happenings around a certain 'death' didn't quite take place as portrayed

_(Sometime after the end of the Episode 200...)_

Section Chief Matt Cruz tried to make himself comfortable in his hospital bed. It wasn’t easy; any movement jarred his injuries and the pain meds were only slightly taking the edge off; although that might have something to do with his refusal to accept anything too strong. He was bored as well – he needed activity to drive away uncomfortable thoughts and activity was not immediately forthcoming.

The arrival of his doctor, trailed by a gaggle of residents wasn’t much of a distraction; especially when she failed to acknowledge him and didn’t seem much interested in a discussion about when he might be able to leave.

He was glad to be left to himself once more – especially since at some point during the examination a small piece of paper had found its way into his hand. He was attributing his failure to notice which resident had managed to slip him the message to the meds.

The paper contained a cell phone number which, put together with the cell phone that had mysteriously found its way under his pillow during the night, meant that someone intended him to make a call. Sometimes he hated cloak and dagger. Just not enough to stop himself from dialing the number.

The phone rang three times before there was a click, followed by silence. “It’s Cruz.”

“Are you alright?” He almost smiled. He didn’t even know why he was surprised.

“I’ve been better.”

“And Agent Jareau?”

“I think she’ll be OK.”

“That's good.”

There was a silence in which he half expected to hear the call being disconnected. They probably shouldn’t even be having this conversation, she was taking a hell of a risk. “I have their backs,” he said, surprised to find he meant it. “I’m watching out for them for you.”

“Don’t do it for me,” her voice sounded a little hoarse, or perhaps it was the line. “Do it because it’s your job.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Get rid of the cell phone.”

“Take care of yourself,” he spoke into the silence – not even sure if she was still there. The click of disconnection was his only answer, making him wish he’d managed to fit something personal into that brief conversation, something meaningful.

***

A long way away, in a place that didn’t entirely exist, a woman who had once been Erin Strauss stood in front of simulated windows – looking out across a decent facsimile of snow-capped mountains. As she gazed at that pretense of the great outdoors she managed a small smile. The BAU had come for Jennifer Jareau and both she and Matt were safe; it was a relief.

Of course, if people knew you were missing there was at least a chance they would search for you; especially if they also cared for you. In contrast no one would come looking for you if everyone believed you were dead. She wasn’t surprised people had been convinced by her demise – sometimes even she believed it to be the truth.

Of course her masters had known that no one would think her death was suspicious. She wasn’t a profiler, she didn’t have the specialist skills of the BAU agents she’d managed. She was a good administrator who'd spent years dealing with a group of people who walked through darkness on a regular basis and had a sideline on quixotic and rash behaviour. She might have dabbled in a few off the grid operations from time to time – on those occasions when a cool head and decent hand at politics had been required, but this was quite different. You had to look at things from a particularly oblique angle to recognise that she was a perfect choice for running an operation so secret it didn’t have a name, so sensitive no one was prepared to admit to its existence and so dangerous that all its agents were ghosts; just like her.

Circumstance had played its part; a choice made years in her past had put her at death’s door and that had produced an opportunity too good to ignore. The people she worked for excelled both at making the most of opportunities and not bothering to ask permission. She was dead and buried by the time she woke up from her coma. No one knew she was here. No one was coming to her rescue.

***

The memory of the conversation lingered with Cruz. He’d only found out that Erin Strauss wasn’t ‘dead’ as he prepared to take on his new role. At first he’d assumed it was because they’d worked together before or because of his security clearance. Later he'd discoveed that she had insisted on briefing him and someone, somewhere had found a way to make it happen. Not that there was any record of their conversation and only two other people knew it had taken place. Even that was probably two too many.

He’d literally been speechless with shock when he saw her on the other side of the screen. On the surface there was nothing about his predecessor that would warrant faking her death – which was exactly what whoever had done exactly that had counted on.

He didn’t know where she was or what she was doing and he didn’t want to know. Some things were secret for a reason and needed to remain that way. But he was uncomfortable about this secret, about what it implied. Matt Cruz wasn’t a rule breaker – she’d told him to get rid of the cell phone and that was exactly what he’d done.

She just hadn’t said anything about the paper with the cell phone number on it.

TBC


	2. Another for the darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only when I read this back did I realise how absent from this chapter Strauss is. Which is the point - I think. Also, I'm not a very technical person so I'm winging it over some of the details. Finally, thank you for reading, leaving kudos, commenting etc.

**Part 2**

“I wanted to thank you,” Aaron Hotchner said with great deliberation, “for your help over the last week. The team appreciate what you were able to accomplish.”

“I didn’t do anything,” his Section Chief told him firmly.

“Of course, I understand.” That was highly unlikely.

“It really wasn’t me,” Cruz reiterated, “I asked, as you requested, but it was made clear to me that the intelligence you required was likely to be damaging to the national interest and therefore would not be shared.”

“And yet we received it anyway. You passed the information along yourself.”

“I’m relieved Agent Blake is recovering.” Cruz didn’t for a moment think that Hotchner hadn’t noticed his evasion.

“She’s due back later today.”

It had been a close run thing. Their most recent case had been particularly messy and had put Blake at significant risk. The unsub had been right under their noses; playing with them, playing with Alex Blake. His diplomatic status had made the investigation difficult; a situation compounded by the fact that he was from a country with whom their Government had important but complicated relations. The intelligence that Section Chief Cruz was denying being responsible for obtaining had shown their suspect was also the main suspect in the deaths of three women in his country of origin. Yet the intelligence had been supplied anyway – though not through Cruz it seemed.

“Should I be concerned, about how the information was obtained?”

“Do you actually want me to answer that question, Agent Hotchner?”

“Perhaps not.”

Cruz nodded, as though he approved of the answer, but as Hotch turned to go he added, very quietly, “let’s just say, the BAU must have a friend in a useful place.”

***  
David Rossi wandered into his office, his mind still half on that bruising case – wondering how Alex was doing and what the final outcome would be. He hated anything that had the whiff of politics and this case stank of it.

As he sat down he sighed at the sight of the files in the centre of his desk. For a man who used words in so many aspects of his life, he was still depressed by the amount of paperwork he had to deal with. All those words, all of that paper. Was any of it worth it? Not a question he had any chance of answering today.

As he reached for the first file, a slip of paper drifted to the floor; the number scrawled across it looked like a cell phone number. He flicked through the file, trying to see where it might have come from but nothing was apparent. The handwriting seemed vaguely familiar but he didn’t recognise the number. He dialed it anyway.

The phone rang three times and then went dead. Confused he tried again, only to receive an automated message that the number was unavailable. A scrap of paper with a number that was unavailable, that wasn’t connected to anything he could think of including the case file it had fallen out of. That was odd.

Of course it was entirely possible that it was a woman’s number. That happened, occasionally. His reputation as a ladies man was overstated, especially these days. But thanks to his books he was wealthy, well known and not without offers. He’d admitted in an interview publicising his latest book that he’d lost someone, but he’d kept further information to himself. That hadn’t stopped letters arriving at his publishers with invitations intended to offer him comfort; as though that was possible.

Of course it could also be someone who wanted him to look into a crime, real or imaginary, or any one of a variation of disturbed persons. The fact that the note was here, in his office, limited the people it could have come from. Perhaps after all it was just a mix up with files or something.

But something stopped him from throwing it away.

Garcia could look into the number, get the paper fingerprinted and maybe he’d ask for the handwriting to be analysed. Just to satisfy his curiosity.

“Dave,” he looked up to find Hotch standing in his doorway, “we’re starting the briefing. You coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he cast the paper onto his desk and pushed himself up from his chair. There were other, more immediate mysteries to solve. This one would wait.

***  
“I spoke to Emily.” Later that day Aaron Hotchner looked up from his files to where David Rossi lounged against the wall of his office, “she says it wasn’t her.”

“Is she saying that because it’s what she’s supposed to say, or because it’s true?”

“Because it’s true. The intelligence didn’t come from Interpol – which makes sense. I didn’t have time to ask for her help and it’s not as if she’s sitting around with nothing else to do but monitor our cases.” Rossi shrugged, somehow he thought that Emily Prentiss kept her eye on their comings and goings but he also believed that if she had been the one who’d come to their assistance she wouldn’t feel the need to keep it from them.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t Cruz?”

“I believe that his request was denied. Since he gave the file to Garcia, someone must have passed the information onto him. But he isn’t saying who – or how it found its way to him.”

“It must have come from somewhere – we didn’t imagine it.” Rossi pointed out.

“We don’t know how reliable the information is.”

“Five women were killed on two continents, with the same signature. When he ended up here he carried on as he’d left off because he thought he was bullet proof. A point Morgan and JJ fairly conclusively disproved. We got the right guy Aaron and we got to him before he hurt Blake, or anyone else. I don’t like that stopping a serial killer was judged less important than upsetting some senior Government figures in a country we’re trying to stay friends with. But I’m not losing any sleep about him.”

“What do you make of it?”

“That someone decided to help us out; whoever it was has access to information about our cases in real time - or knows someone who does. They're also able to get hold of information that we’d been told we couldn’t have and get it to Cruz. Someone went out on a limb for us. What did Cruz say, that we have a well-connected friend?”

“It’s why I thought of Emily.”

“But it wasn’t her, so who is our mysterious benefactor?” Glancing out of the window, Rossi added the most pertinent question of all, “and what do they want in return?”

***

“What do you have for me?” Penelope Garcia looked up from her screens and pushed her chair away from the desk with a practiced air. The chair shot across the carpet, coming to a halt precious inches away from David Rossi.

“Oh so many things my crime fighting maestro.”

“I know Hotch asked you to look into where the intelligence came from.”

“Ssh, we aren’t talking about that particular request.” She looked around her as though she expected them to be overheard and yet he suspected this was one place he could be fairly certain that would not happen.

“Have you found anything?”

“Nothing, nada.” She shook her head, “and that’s making me very suspicious. I can’t find any indication that the information was emailed, so now I’m trying to find out if it was delivered in person. I’ve gone over the logs of who was here that day, but I don’t exactly know what I’m looking for. There were several meetings, lots of comings and goings plus two deliveries from couriers – both of which I’ve tracked down and which seem to add up.”

“Can you cross reference the list of visitors with anyone who has access to information about our missions, anyone the Section Chief or Hotch might have updated about a mission which had diplomatic implications – someone at State maybe?”

“On it.”

“Carefully,” he reminded her.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about that. Now, your other mystery.”

He’d almost forgotten that he had passed the slip of paper he’d found over to Garcia. “I’ve sent the paper for fingerprints and handwriting analysis. The number belongs to an unregistered cell phone that hasn’t been turned on for over two months. In fact I can only find a trace of it being active once and that was on February 6th. Don’t ask me where the phone was at the time.”

“Where was the phone?”

She sighed dramatically. “It’s impossible to tell. Trust me I’ve tried and you know how I feel about the impossible. The GPS was scrambled with something I've never seen; the signal bounces around all over the place. What I can tell you is that on the 6th, there was a single incoming call. That call was made from another unregistered cell, but on this end there wasn’t any GPS scrambling. So, while I can’t tell you where the person who received the call was, I can say that the call was made from somewhere very close to GW. The call lasted under a minute.”

“Unregistered cell calling unregistered cell,” Rossi was disappointed, without really knowing why. “It’s not much.”

“I also checked and couldn’t find any reference to either number in any BAU cases; open or closed.”

It didn’t make any sense, the paper had found its way into a file in his office; but it wasn’t connected to any BAU cases. It wasn’t someone slipping him a number; because the number in question wasn’t operational; added to that there was no way of telling where the cell had been when it had received its only call. “Who could scramble the signal like that?”

“You can buy a device to block GPS,” Garcia pointed out, “it’s not legal, obviously. They’ve been used to beat trackers inside stolen cargo or to block GPS road-tolls and people are worried that if they were activated in a city there would be chaos. This is different though – a jammer would have disrupted the GPS signal of the cell phone – but this call still went through.”

“Someone really didn’t want us to find out where that call was received.” Or anything more about it.

“Are you suitably intrigued?”

“No,” he was past being intrigued, “I’m suspicious.”

She looked at him and he could see the question she wanted to ask. He returned her stare, gaze unflinching and something shifted into her expression as she backed down. Instead she turned and propelled herself back to her desk. “Crime fighting doesn’t wait,” she told him in apparent dismissal. She had that right. 

Tbc


	3. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Also, obviously I don't own these characters.

**Chapter 3**

_(Several months earlier)_

Her last memory is flashing lights, Aaron Hotchner’s voice, tumbling, chaotic words and overwhelming panic.

Her first memory is of the light. It’s too bright, images are blurred and there is a frantic beeping which she dimly recognises echoes her struggle to breathe.

“Erin,” the voice is calm and confident, yet unfamiliar. “You’re in hospital and you’re safe.” There’s something important that she needs to communicate, to explain, but there is also something in her throat, literally stopping her from speaking. “Erin, you need to stop fighting the tube – it’s helping you.” The man speaking to her is stranger, but she follows the motion of his head as he turns to look behind him; as though he is listening to someone else speak. “Curtis is dead.” He tells her, conveniently failing to mention that so is she.

The next memory is of waking again – this time without the tube. Her breath comes easier and the light no longer hurts her eyes. But there are other, worse things awaiting her.

Her memories of 'before' return and hard on their heels is shame; the bitter taste of the alcohol laced with her failures. Tears start to flow and she wants to curl up and hide but her body is too weak even for that, so all she can do is close her eyes. “Erin,” a different voice this time, one she thinks she knows but can’t place. She isn’t ready to face anyone. “I need you to get well – we don’t have much time.”

It takes another day of fitful wakefulness before she realises that she hasn’t seen her children or David. When she asks for them and receives no explanation for their absence, she starts to panic once more. But the drugs take care of that, stopping her questions. 

The drugs take her away more often than not and she surrenders because oblivion is easier to face.

Until one day when she awakens with a clearer head to find a man in a dark suit sitting beside her bed, calmly leafing through a pile of papers. She struggles to recall his name wading through memories of lengthy budget meetings and excruciatingly in-depth conversations about the most mundane details. “I’m glad you’re awake,” he says as he takes off his small, round glasses and blinks owlishly at her. “We have a lot to discuss.”

***

“I’m sorry, I know how busy you are but I didn’t know what else to do and I thought it would be better coming from you and…”

“You did the right thing,” Hotch told his technical analyst as he looked up from the file she had handed him only moments before. “I’m glad you brought this to me.”

“Really?” She looked almost comically relieved, her bracelets jangling as she waved her arms. “I don’t know if we should tell him. Couldn’t we just…”

“We have to tell him,” although that didn’t mean he was going to enjoy doing so. “Are you completely sure?”

“I’ve checked, more than once. It seems so, unlikely. But that’s definitely where the information came from.”

“Or at least it’s how we came to have access to it.” He was fairly sure this was the start of the mystery, not the end of it; although saying as much was not entirely helpful.  
Before he could go further there was a short tap on the office door and David Rossi stepped into the room. “JJ said you were looking for me?” Reading the tension in the room he glanced quickly at Garcia, before adding, “I can come back?”

“No, Dave it’s fine – come on in.” Garcia looked as though she hoped she was going to be excused but wasn’t going to happen. “There’s been some progress on our mystery.”

“You’ve found out who our benefactor is?”

“Not exactly.”

Both men looked expectantly at Garcia and though she didn’t seem happy she launched into her explanation anyway. “The file containing the intelligence was saved in an existing folder on our servers, it was from there that Section Chief Cruz accessed it a few minutes after it had been saved.”

“Raising the question, how did Cruz know it was there?” Garcia looked at Hotch, her expression a plea for intervention, which Rossi saw. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“The file was saved in a specific directory, a hidden directory, one which was created before he took up his post. The same log in created both the directory and saved the file.”

“That’s good, so, who does it belong to?”

“It belonged to,” Penelope stumbled, looked distressed before she pulled herself together, “it was Section Chief Strauss'”. 

They didn’t talk about Erin Strauss - partly because they didn’t know what to say. There was a sense of failure that pervaded the Replicator case and even if they had got their man a lot of damage had been done along the way, including the death of their Section Chief. But mostly they didn’t talk about her because David didn’t want them to. He shut down whenever her name was mentioned, asked for nothing in the way of support and sympathy; letting his writing speak for him. So far what he had 'said' was a book full of haunting prose, which resonated with loss.

Now he asked, “who had access to her codes?” 

“In theory, no one. They should have been locked down,” Garcia shook her head, “it’s standard protocol after an agent, dies. For some reason that didn’t happen on this occasion. The codes still worked.”

It was in Rossi’s eyes now, just for a moment – a flicker of pain that Aaron recognised only too well. But then it was gone; compartmentalised; sent to a place where he could cope with it. There was a very small part of Hotch that thought this wasn’t healthy; couldn’t be – but if it was what Dave needed to do then of course he’d support him. They all would.

“What can you tell me about the paper you asked to have analysed?” Hotch asked, although the information was sitting on his desk.

“I found it in my office with some case files. The number doesn’t relate to any case we or anyone else is working on. The cell has only been turned on once, when, what did you say?” He asked Garcia, “another unregistered cell called the number? You couldn’t tell where the call was received because the GPS was disrupted, but the call to it originated from somewhere close to GW hospital.” When Garica nodded that he had recounted her explanation accurately, Rossi narrowed his eyes. “What’s on the paper Aaron? I know you know.”

“Other than your fingerprints? There’s another partial match – to Section Chief Cruz.”

“The files had been to his office for review, so I suppose that makes sense.”

“There was a match to the handwriting as well,” Hotch told him, “the number was written by Erin Strauss.”

“What?” Rossi looked stunned by this piece of information.

“Cruz was in hospital, in GW on the night the single call was made to that number. It was the day after we rescued JJ and him.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Dave!” Hotch called after him, but Rossi was already gone – the door slamming back against the frame and rattling with the impact. “This goes no further,” he told Garcia; although one look at her expression convinced him of her acquiescence. Unfortunately it wasn’t what Garcia might do or say that he was worried about.

TBC


End file.
